


The Red Flame

by flashofthefuse



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-11-21 12:35:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11357625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashofthefuse/pseuds/flashofthefuse
Summary: An undercover operation finds Jack, Phryne, Mac and Bert in the same place under different circumstances forcing them to improvise to accomplish their separate goals.This is my contribution to this month's trope. I'm posting this first chapter just under the wire and hope to have the rest up in the coming days. I haven't had as much time as I'd like for editing, so forgive me if it's a little rough.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The character of Moll Brand was partly inspired by Nellie Cameron. A notorious Sydney prostitute from the 1920-30’s. She was also know as “The Kiss of Death Girl” because most of her boyfriends or husbands were killed (though not by her).

Moll Brand was said to be the most popular, and expensive, prostitute in Sydney.

She’d began her criminal career ordinarily enough. After the death of her father, her mother had remarried. The man paid to send Moll to a private girl’s school, but he was far from an ideal step-father. When she finally worked up the courage to tell her mother about his late night visits to her bedroom, Moll was thrown out of the house. She was fifteen.

Within months she was working on the streets in Surry Hills and the Woolloomooloo districts.

In her early years she perfected the so called ‘gingering’ ruse. During a session with a client, an accomplice would hide under the bed and sneak out to steal the client’s wallet from their discarded pants or jacket. On a predetermined cue—usually Moll crying out in feigned ecstasy—another accomplice outside would bang angrily on the door.

Moll would fly into a panic, claiming it was either the police, or her irate husband, and shuttle her terrified client out the back door. The man would hurry away in the hopes of avoiding detection and not notice the theft until it was too late. No one ever reported the crime to police.

In addition to prostitution, Moll also acted as a fence for stolen property and ran cocaine.

Her wits and her beauty eventually allowed her to be more selective in her clientele and she became a favorite among Sydney’s most influential businessmen and important politicians. It was said she had more than one judge in her pocket as well, which explained her ability to repeatedly slip out of criminal charges.

She’d had a string of lovers though the years, many fully participating in her criminal enterprises, or enterprises of their own. They seemed to die at an alarming rate, often at the hands of a rival for her affection. Her reputation as an angel of death did little to dissuade the next man.

She was beautiful, intelligent and—when she needed to be—ruthless. And now she was in Melbourne.

* * *

 

The door opened and the first word that popped into his head was _exquisite_.

The emerald gown clung to every curve. Her hair swept across her forehead, falling in waves that accentuated her high cheekbones. In lieu of her usual hat, she had a large, feathered headpiece tucked behind one ear and sparkling diamonds swung from her earlobes. Her mouth was painted a deeper shade of red than she normally wore and her eyes were lined with kohl.

She looked unfamiliar and spectacular. More importantly, she was a dead ringer.

“Close your mouth, Inspector,” she said, gruffly.

Jack cleared his throat and fumbled awkwardly with his bow tie, feeling a heat rise on his cheeks.

“My apologies, but the resemblance is uncanny,” he said, trying to cover for his buffoonish reaction.

“That is the point of this, isn’t it,” she said.

“Yes, it is, and you definitely look the part, but just looking like her won’t be enough, you know. Are you as confident in her character? I hope you took the time to read the material I sent.”

“Are you always this condescending?”

“Probably,” he admitted, earning him a small smile. “May I come in? I’d like to fill you in on what we’ve learned this afternoon.”

She waved him through the door and into her sitting room. He’d been a regular visitor here lately. An unexpected, but pleasant result of recent events. He wished this were just one more of those companionable evenings. He’d grown exceedingly fond of her and hated the thought of her in harm’s way.

Not that he didn’t think her capable. She was brilliant and savvy and tough—much like the woman she was impersonating— but any number of things could go wrong, and in the end, this wasn’t her job. The chief’s reasoning was idiotic.

As far as they knew, no one in Melbourne had ever actually laid eyes on Moll Brand. She was known here by reputation only, but once the chief had seen that mug shot, and the resemblance, he’d insisted on her involvement, and nothing Jack could say would dissuade him. His only hope had been that she’d refuse. He should’ve known better.

“You’ll need all the information you can get to pull this off safely, and your safety tonight is my highest priority. If I had my way, you’d be nowhere near this,” he said.

“You’ve made that perfectly clear, Inspector, but it’s my call. We may not get this chance again, and if I can help keep that stuff off the streets, it will be worth the risk.”

It was just dumb luck they even had this chance. An officer from Sydney, on his way to his father’s funeral in Melbourne, had recognized Moll and her bodyguard on the train. After having the foresight to follow to a hotel, he’d informed Russell Street of their presence in town.

The request had come down from the top. Jack was to invite the new arrivals to City South for a little conversation. A simultaneous search of their belongings had turned up a cache of jewels and a large amount of cocaine. The pair had been indefinitely detained.

Moll had shut like a clam, but her bodyguard had proved more forthcoming.

Alfie _‘the fist’_ Winstrop was a pugilist turned gangster’s muscle, known for his preference for bare knuckle fights. Fights he usually won even when his opponent carried a more lethal weapon.

He was more than just bodyguard to Moll. He was also her current lover and apparently devoted to her, going so far as to have her nickname tattooed on his bicep.

Once Alfie learned the police had found the drugs, he’d struck a deal for information. He’d told police their plans in return for leniency for Moll, setting in motion the operation that found Jack in this familiar room.

He took his usual seat and shook his head at her offer of a whisky.

“Better not. I may have to drink later and I need to keep my wits.”

“I’m going to have a small one to calm the nerves, if you don’t mind,” she said, pouring a slight finger into a tumbler. “Did you get much more out of them?”

“I put a man in a cell nearby when I sent Alfie back down. Moll was spitting mad when she found out he’d talked.”

“So much for that romance.”

“Surprisingly, no. It seems she is equally devoted to him. This whole venture was supposed to be one last big score. They hoped to get enough to go away together and start a new life somewhere else.”

“They planned to go straight?”

“So it would seem.”

She sat back in her chair thoughtfully.

“I almost wish it’d have worked. I find myself sympathetic to her. She was just a child when she found herself homeless. There weren’t many options open to her, especially as a female. She did what she had to do to survive.”

“Not everyone in dire straits turns to crime,” he argued, though privately he could see her point.

“At least she hasn’t killed anyone.”

“Not directly. Had those drugs made it into this city for distribution, I don’t want to think about the consequences.”

“I find it unfathomable that distributors would lace their product with something so deadly. Why kill off your clientele?”

“Because there are always more customers, and it sells. On the promise of a heightened experience, which apparently it provides, when it doesn’t kill you.”

“But, it does! More often than not. It’s become quite an epidemic in Sydney.”

“And we don’t want it here.”

“Then we’d better play our parts well, Inspector,” she downed her drink as he rose to his feet.

“Shall we, Moll?” he asked, extending his arm.

“No time like the present. Alfie.”

Dr. Elizabeth MacMillan linked her hand through Detective Inspector Jack Robinson’s arm and they made their way to the car waiting on the curb. Once inside, Jack gave instructions to the sergeant posing as their cabbie. The address of their destination had been withheld until the last minute to avoid any possible leaks that might blow the operation.

Jack had chosen very carefully tonight. Once depositing his passengers, the sergeant would park the cab around the corner and then join Hugh Collins and a few other hand picked, and highly trusted men, positioned outside the building.

Mac slid into the car with a bit less than perfect grace and tugged the dress back into place irritably.

“Been awhile since I had to deal with one of these,” she said. “By the way, how’d she take it when you told her?”

“Ah, well...it all came together so quickly...”

“You didn’t tell her?”

“There wasn’t time!”

“Yes. I'm sure she'll find that a reasonable explanation,” Mac snorted. “So, where does she think you are tonight?”

“No idea. At home, I imagine. She had plans for the evening. Dancing, I think.”

“Good. Then she’ll be happy. Maybe she never has to know. I’d certainly prefer that. She’d never let me hear the end of this anyway,” she said.

“Is it the dress?” he said, with mock innocence, “because I think you look very nice.”

She shot him a look that would stop lava in its tracks.

“I know we established a bit of a rapport while she was away, but you should keep in mind that I can wield a knife in ways that would kill you in seconds,” she said. “You wouldn’t even have time to make a sound.”

“Duly noted,” he said. He thought he heard a little snicker from the front seat.

“I remember why I gave up on this years ago,” she grumbled, shifting about and tugging at the silky fabric that clung to her hips. “No freedom of movement at all. Just climbing into this car without exposing myself was too much work. Why bother?”

“Shall we run over things one more time while we’ve got the chance?” He asked, nervously.

Moll Brand was an elegant woman, known for her high fashion sense, he began to worry Mac might not be able to pull this off despite the costume—or, rather, because of it.

Plus, there was the other angle.

“What more is there to run over?” She asked.

“I’m just wondering if you’re comfortable with the lovers component. It might not be universally known, so we don’t necessarily need to use it. I could just be your bodyguard, but the premise might make it easier to communicate.”

“You mean as lovers we could get close.” She slid gracefully toward him on the bench, leaning in and tilting her head up until her lips were inches from his ear, “and speak intimately without anyone else hearing,” she breathed. Her hand had come to rest above his knee and her whole body was angled dangerously toward his. She pulled back quickly.

“Don’t worry, Jack,” she said, simply. “I’ve seen it often enough to know how to imitate it effectively. We’ll be fine.”

“Lovers it is then,” he said, smiling at her brazen cheek, “but this isn’t fun and games we’re walking into. Ned Carle is a nasty piece of work. Don’t let the man’s charm fool you. He talks a good game, but he’s a thug, Mac. No doubt about it.”

“I’m well aware. Too much of his handiwork has ended up on my table in the morgue.”

“You’re going to have to do most of the talking. Moll’s the one in charge here. Are you sure you’re all right with this? There’s still time to back out.”

“I can handle it,” she said, a bit testily.

“All right,” he surrendered. “I’ll be right by your side the entire time. And should anything turn sour, don’t hesitate to leave me behind and make for the door. Find Collins or one of my other men. There’ll be at least one on every exit. We’ll take good care of you.”

“I know you will, because if anything were to happen to me, our mutual friend would cause you no end of grief.”

“That is true, but I have my own reasons for wanting to keep you safe,” he said, looking at her fondly.

“Seriously, Jack,” she said, laying a hand on his arm, “stop worrying. If anything happens to me, this was my choice. Don’t you forget that. And make sure she understands it as well.”

“Nothing is going to happen.”

They pulled up in front of a nondescript building that housed a known after-hours drinking venue in the basement, run by the slippery thug, Ned Carle.

With legal sale of liquor ending at six o’clock every night, there was a booming market for these clandestine social clubs and police often looked the other way. There just wasn’t enough manpower to shut them all down, and if they weren’t causing any real harm, it wasn’t worth the paperwork.

The truth was, there were plenty of people, even those that considered themselves upstanding citizens, looking for a bit of entertainment and these places filled a need.

Ned Carle took this concept to a whole other level. He had the decadent tastes of the fictional Jay Gatsby and the criminal mind of the all too real Al Capone. His place, once you got past the plain exterior, was opulent and lush. White tablecloths on high cocktail tables, intimate corner love seats with curtains for additional privacy, twinkling chandeliers, plush, red velvet furnishings and gold accents everywhere.

Carle had a international network through which he imported alcohol from many different locations, including Canada and the United States, as well as dozens of local bootleggers. He used a combination of bribery, intimidation and violence to hold on to his empire, protect his investments and keep the booze flowing in his club.

In the main room there was roulette and dice tables. Further, behind closed doors, you could join in high stakes poker games.

There were women available for whatever company one might want for the evening. Beautiful, high-class escorts that would hang on a man’s arm and then accompany them to a back room for an additional cost.

Beyond all of this, behind the fancy facade and sparkling lights, there was a much darker operation where a man could feed his baser desires.

Jack longed to shut the whole thing down, but Carle had friends in high places. Jack had only been allowed to pursue this angle because Carle had stepped on some toes as of late and the brass wanted to send a message. Jack was under strict orders to limit the scope of the investigation. He was to prevent the distribution of the tainted cocaine and nothing more.

Once Carle agreed to the purchase, Jack was to make the arrest. Carle would wriggle out of the charge, as he had many times before, but the message would be sent.

The whole thing was frustrating, but it should be a fairly simple operation that wouldn’t put Mac or his men in too much danger and it would keep the bad cocaine off the streets. That would have to be enough for now.

Jack held the door for Mac and followed closely behind, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dark, smoke filled room. He laid a protective hand on the small of Mac’s back and steered her toward the bar.

“Stay close,” he whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One undercover operation bumps up against another.

She’d made directly for a table in a dark corner as soon as they’d arrived. The blond wig hid her identity to anyone not looking too closely, but she still had thought it best to stay in the shadows until they could get the information they needed.

“It’s straight forward enough,” Bert said, setting the drinks down and taking a seat beside her. He tugged impatiently at the stiff collar of his starched shirt. “Just gotta let ‘em know you’re interested in something a little more adventurous and, for the right price, they take you upstairs. Not sure you get to pick and choose though. Not unless you’re a regular, which, for the record, I ain’t.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Phryne said, “money opens doors.”

“All right. So, what’s the plan once I get in there?” He asked.

“Once _we_ get in there,” she corrected.

“What?”

“I’m coming up with you.”

“What would a lady be wantin’ up there?”

“The same thing as a man, I imagine.”

“Bloody hell! So what’d ya need me for then?”

“It’s going to take both of us to pull off what I have in mind. As long as I pay a little extra—a group rate, if you will—they won’t bat an eye. They’ve seen it all before.”

“You don’t mean—you want them to think that the both of us— that _three_ of us will—not a chance,” Bert said.

“Really, Bert, stop making such a fuss. It's not that unusual.”

“It is for me!”

“Then it’s a good thing I’ll do all the talking.”

“So, if you’re the rich toff pullin’ all the strings, what am I supposed to be?”

“You’re my...” she waved her hand about airily, “male companion,” she finished, delicately.

“So I’m some slimy gold digger? Ah, hell no.” He shook his head violently. “Why do I agree to these things?” he asked, no one in particular.

“Because I pay you handsomely,” Phryne reminded him. “And you’re a good man that wants to free a girl from forced servitude.”

“But, I can find her on my own. I know what she looks like,” he pleaded.

“And once you do find her, how would you propose to get her out?”

“I’ll just grab her and go hell for leather to the door.”

“You call that a plan? You wouldn’t make it four feet.”

“Well what’s yours then?”

“Once we’re in the room, I’ll give April my cloak and the wig. You will simply walk out with her the way we went in.”

“And leave you behind? No bleedin’ way that’s happening.”

“Don’t you worry about me. I’ll find my own way out.”

“No,” Bert repeated. “I ain’t havin’ it.”

Phryne sighed.

“I promised that girl’s sister I’d get her out of here, and I fully intend to keep that promise. Do you have a better idea?”

He glanced around the bar as if hoping the perfect plan would appear before him. His eyes fell on something—or rather someone—very familiar.

“Why didn’t you just ask that precious inspector of yours for help?”

“I couldn’t let Jack step foot in a place like this. What if he were recognized? It would risk his reputation on the force.”

“Don’t look like that’s much of a concern to him at the moment.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ain’t that him, standing right over there, makin’ goo-goo eyes at some fancy bit of fluff?”

“What are you talking about?” Phryne followed Bert’s gaze, her mouth dropping open in surprise. “Jack! She exclaimed, “and, Mac?”

“It ain’t never—well, I’ll be buggered. It is the doc!”

* * *

As they made their way through the crowd heads turned in their direction. Mac moved with a serene grace and a confidence that was magnetic. In the stunning emerald green gown with her flaming red hair, she was drawing far more attention than was healthy for an undercover operation. Jack frowned. Perhaps she was just a little too perfect for this role.

He slid a hand around her waist, drawing her to him and speaking softly into her ear.

“Try not to be quite so alluring, would you? Too many eyes on us is not a good thing.”

“But isn’t that what Moll’s famous for?”

“Yes, but tonight she’s here on business. It wouldn’t do to have every man in the room seeking audience with you.”

Mac ran her hand up onto his chest and looked into his eyes, smiling sweetly, “Don’t be jealous, Alfie, hon,” she said. “You know I only got eyes for you.”

“Just tone it down, and try not to enjoy this so much,” he said, fixing her with as stern a stare as he could muster and turning her toward the bar. Not surprisingly, the barkeep was in front of them immediately, leaning forward when Mac smiled brightly at him.

Jack rolled his eyes.

“What can I get ya, doll?” The barman asked, eyeing Mac lasciviously.

“I’m looking for Ned Carle,” she said, “we have an appointment.”

“Yeah? Well, he’s a busy man, doll. Why don’t ya tell me what you need. I can be real obligin’.”

“Is that so?” Mac said, with a sly smile and quirk of her eyebrow.

Confident she knew just how to handle the man, Jack left her to it and leaned back against the bar, casting his eye about the room and taking a lay of the land.

“Yeah, doll. Real obliging, if you know what I mean,” the bartender said with a leer, reaching out to draw a finger along the neckline of Mac’s gown.

Without turning, or even appearing to look in that direction, Jack’s hand shot out, grabbed the man by the wrist, and slammed the groping hand down on the bar, pinning it.

“I’m not your doll, sweetie. And you don’t earn enough to touch me,” Mac said, coldly, “I have business with your boss, so if you’d be so _obliging_ as to let him know Moll Brand is here, I’d be ever so grateful.”

Jack released the hand. The man straightened, rubbing his wrist and glaring at Jack, who still faced away from the bar, paying the man no more mind than if he were annoying gnat he’d just swatted.

“I’ll see if I can find him,” the man grumbled.

“When you do,” Mac said, “be sure to tell him I don’t like being kept waiting.”

* * *

 

Phryne watched Jack slide his arm around Mac’s waist in a manner all too familiar. He leaned into her and Phryne could imagine, with great detail, his breath on her ear, the way his voice would rumble through Mac’s body. She shivered.

“What on earth are they doing here? And what is Mac wearing?”

“Beats the hell outta me, but damn, the doc looks fine, don’t she?” Bert said.

“Yes. And from the reaction of the room, I don’t think we’re alone in that assessment.”

“Ya think they’re stepping out?” Bert asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Phryne snapped. This was police business. She was sure of it and she was rather annoyed to find herself in the dark.

Why wasn’t she the one on Jack’s arm? Hadn’t she proven her mettle in their other undercover operations? And, Mac! The betrayal was as stunning as her dress.

She watched a brief confrontation with the bartender. Jack suddenly reacting aggressively to the man’s advance toward Mac, but not interfering in the conversation.

Clearly, Mac, whoever she was supposed to be, was the one in charge. It was all very intriguing. Her mind began turning, thinking of ways to approach them and maybe get in on their caper, but then she remembered that Jack hadn’t even told her he was on a case.

She tried to shake off the petty jealousy rising in her breast. There was a girl upstairs that needed her help.

“Whatever they’re doing here is of no concern to us, as long as they don’t get in our way. We have our job and they obviously have theirs. We’ll leave them to it.”

Just as she was about to turn away, Jack caught her eye. She raised her glass in a brief salute. Even from across the room she could see his flash of surprise. It lasted but a second before his expression hardened again.

* * *

 

Jack froze, his body tensing. At first he’d nearly looked past her, the blond wig momentarily throwing him off, but then he’d noticed the set of her shoulders, and the way her head tilted just so. She raised her glass to him and even from across the room he could see the tight pursing of lips and narrowed eyes—or maybe he just projected the peeved expression he imagined she’d be wearing.

“Don’t turn around, but we’ve got a complication,” He whispered Mac’s ear.

Mac turned to face him, reaching up to straighten his tie and smoothing her hands over his chest.

“What is it?” she asked.

He smiled at her, a gleam in his eye that would make any observers think they were witnessing a private moment between lovers, and quietly explained what he’d seen.

“I thought you said she was dancing.”

“She said she was planning a night on the town. I just assumed,” he said.

It occurred to him now that she’d been vague about her plans because, as she’d once told him, she always lied as little as possible. She'd been truthful in saying she was going out on the town, but it wasn’t for fun. She was on a case, as evidenced by the disguise. He felt a twinge of disappointment that she hadn’t asked for his help.

“We need to find out why she’s here. If it’s anything to do with Carle it might make a mess of things,” He said.

“I’ll head to the loo and get her to follow so I can talk to her in private.”

“All right. Find out what she’s up to and see if it can wait for another day, but be quick about it. We don’t want to annoy Carle by keeping him waiting.”

“On the contrary. I’m fairly sure his failure to greet us was strategic. Leaving us to cool our heels gives him power. Making him wait might be just the tactic we need to make clear who is in charge here.”

“You really are very good at this, you know that?” he said, admiringly.

“Did you doubt it?” She gave him a sly smile that reminded him very much of the woman currently glaring at them from across the bar.

The barman returned after being gone barely a minute. Clearly, Carle was nearby.

“The boss said to tell you he’ll be with you soon.”

Mac and Jack exchanged a look. She’d been right in her assumption that he was purposefully making them wait in an effort to gain the upper hand.

“Soon? Moll Brand don’t wait,” Jack growled, menacingly.

“Ain’t nothin’ I can do about it. Like I said, he’s a busy man.” The man back up slightly, out of Jack’s reach.

“Relax sweetie,” Mac said to the man, with a cruel smile. “It ain’t your fault. I know what it’s like to be nothing more than a servant to an arrogant man. I won’t hold that against you.” She patted his hand condescendingly. “I’ll just run and powder my nose. I’m sure Mr. Carle will turn up quick. That is, if he’s still interested in doing business. If not, I can take my merchandise elsewhere with ease. You might want to give him that message.”

The man grunted, clearly unhappy to be in the middle of a power struggle between his boss and this fiery red head with the menacing attack dog.

Jack slammed back his drink and took Mac’s elbow as they turned from the bar. “Moll—I think I love you,” he whispered.

“You’re astonishment at my competence is getting insulting, Alfie,” she said, quietly. “I know it’s hard for you to see, given your narrow focus, but there is more than one remarkable woman in this world, you know.”

* * *

 

Phryne watched Mac and Jack standing so close to each other as to nearly be in the other’s lap. There was a lot of leaning, touching and whispering. Jack’s hand on the small of Mac’s back, lengthy gazes into her eyes and sly smiles. She knew those smiles. They were playful, intimate and they were for her.

 _When did I start thinking like that?_ She wondered, with a start. She shook it off. They were approaching.

“They’re coming this way,” Bert hissed. “Whadda we do?”

“Sit tight. And smile, for pity’s sake. We’re supposed to be having a good time!”

The grimace that formed on Bert’s face made her sigh in fond exasperation. He may not be much for play acting, but the man had a heart of gold, was fiercely loyal, and damn good in a fight.

As Mac passed, she caught Phryne’s eye and with a tiny tilt of the head bid her to follow. Phryne waited a beat, watching Mac enter the hallway to the toilets.

“Keep an eye on Jack,” she whispered to Bert, “but be discreet.”

“I ain’t an idiot,” Bert replied, grumpily.

“Of course not,” Phryne said, distractedly.

She followed after Mac, steadfastly ignoring Jack, who had stopped at the end of the hall to stand guard. He made no move to acknowledge her either, and she was irritated by how much that stung.

When she entered the lavatory Mac was at the mirror applying a coat of lipstick. There was another woman at the sink, so Phryne went directly into a stall to wait. After a minute, Mac called to her.

“You can come out now. We’re alone.”

Phryne emerged and strode to the sink. She calmly removed her own lipstick from her bag and carefully swiped it over her lips.

“That’s a lovely gown,” she said. “Wherever did you find it?”

“You can take the piss out of me later,” Mac replied. “We’ve more important things to discuss right now.”

“I’m not taking the piss. You really look spectacular—but then you always do. Now, tell me why you’re here.”

“Why are _you_ here?”

“You first.”

“Oh, for—fine. I'll go first. An opportunity arose to keep some very dangerous drugs off the streets and possibly shut down that side of Carle’s operations—or at least discourage it. We had to act fast and it could get dicey, so, whatever it is you’re doing here, Jack would like you to postpone it for another day.”

“Oh, is that what Jack would like?” Phryne said, with the air of one that couldn’t care less. “Well, I’m afraid I have to disappoint him.”

“Phryne, don’t let your pride get in the way here,” Mac said, realizing she probably should have tried to avoid using _‘we’_ when describing the operation, but then again, Phryne didn’t need to be so damn sensitive either. “I wasn’t his first choice for this. I shouldn’t have to tell you that. He didn’t have a say, the orders came from over his head. Don’t hold that against him. He really doesn’t need the distraction.”

“Distraction?”

“Stop being so petulant. This is serious, and you know he’ll worry about you,” Mac said, then quickly continued before Phryne could erupt, “whether he needs to or not—he will worry about you. It might take his mind off the task at hand.”

Phryne deflated slightly, shaking her head. “You underestimate him, Mac. He’s far too good at his job for that,” she said, with a hint of pride, “and, I’m sorry. I wish I could, but I can’t postpone my work. It has to be done tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because a girl’s life is a stake.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The undercover pairs continue their work. Separately. And we meet Ned Carle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed the rating of this story, not for any fun reason (sorry about that), but because the story line took a more adult turn than I'd originally intended. There's nothing graphic, but I thought the descriptions of the sex trade earned a Mature rating.

Mac emerged and stopped in front of Jack, leaning in affectionately and straightening his bow tie while gazing adoringly up at him. He smiled. Did all women just instinctively know how to do this, or had Phryne given her some tips?

“Little snag,” Mac whispered, running a hand down his chest. “She’s not leaving.”

“Damn,” Jack cursed, looking over her head toward the hall to the toilets.

“Smile, Alfie. And look at me. We’re supposed to be in love, remember? ”

Jack fixed an adoring look on his face and caressed Mac’s cheek with the back of his hand so that they looked, for all the world, like a couple deeply enamored of each other.

“What’s her story?”

“There’s a girl upstairs. Her boyfriend sold her to Carle to pay off his debts. She was told she’d be working in the front of the house as a server, but I don’t have to tell you how that worked out. Jack,the girl’s only 17,” she said, his real name slipping out in her distress.

His jaw clenched as he tried to control his anger. This was why he’d argued for a more aggressive stance against Carle. It was one thing to look the other way when a club offered music and dancing, and then slipped in a bit of sly grog on the side, but this—Carle’s empire of gambling, drugs and prostitution that resulted in turf wars and ruined lives—was a blight on the city.

“Do you know what she has planned?”

“Not entirely. There wasn’t time to get details, but she promised to try and stay out of our way.”

“That wasn’t my concern in asking. I was wondering if there’s any way we could help her.”

The smile and look of admiration Mac had for him now was not put on for the sake of their audience.

“Let’s hope keeping Carle occupied will be enough,” she said. “Don’t worry about her. She can take care of herself.”

“I know, but...”

“You wish you were with her on this one.”

“Yes.”

 _On all of them_ , if he were being honest. Somewhere along the way they’d become partners, and while Mac was proving to be a more than adequate stand-in, it wasn’t the same. He and Phryne had a form of unspoken communication unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. It had served them well in dangerous times.

He sensed her presence and looked up to see her emerge from the hallway. Their eyes met and held, and he told her that he was sorry, that he understood what she had to do and wouldn't get in her way. As she passed she stretched her hand out to touch the back of his and their fingers tangled briefly together.

“Be careful,” he murmured.

“You too. Both of you,” she whispered in return, and then she was gone in the crowd.

“She’ll be fine. She always is,” Mac said, as much for herself as him, “and we'd better get our minds on the task at hand, because Carle’s on his way over.”

Mac made a stealthy appraisal of their target. He wore a black suit with a red, brocade waistcoat that was clearly of an expensive silk, but in too garish a shade to be sophisticated. His suit was ill fitting. Hanging loosely, even when buttoned, in a failed attempt to disguise his ample belly. The coat, too, was unnecessarily long.

Mac could have easily recommended a competent tailor to the man, but suspected the fault lay with the customer this time. She guessed that Carle had dictated the alterations himself, in the mistaken impression that this oversized cut would give the illusion he was a taller and thinner man.

She caught his eye briefly and he smiled slyly at her. She knew the type immediately. He was highly arrogant and clearly overestimating his physical appeal, most likely because his power and wealth had always allowed him to take whatever he wanted. The look on his face now said he wanted her.

She blinked slowly, breaking eye contact without having allowed so much as a flicker of curiosity, returned her gaze to Jack, and sighed.

“What is it?” he asked.

“He’s going to try my patience,” she said.

“You mean, you think he will...”

His words dropped off and he blushed. She laughed.

“Proposition me? Yes, I’m afraid so. And he doesn’t look the type to be easily deterred, but don’t worry. I’ve dealt with his kind before.”

 _It must be exhausting to be a woman_ , Jack thought. _Having to constantly assess your surroundings, calculate the risk and attempt to mitigate it._

Mac turned and took Jack’s arm with her head held high. As they passed Carle she appeared oblivious to him, as if completely unaware of his identity.

“Miss Brand!” Carle exclaimed, calling to her.

“Yes?” Mac said, acknowledging him as if she’d only just noticed him.

“I must say, you are a vision! Every bit as lovely as I’d heard.”

“Do I know you?” She asked, imperiously.

“Ned Carle,” he smirked self-importantly, extending his hand. “I believe you were looking for me earlier?”

She looked him up and down as if assessing him and finding him lacking.

“You’re Mr. Carle?”

“One and the same.”

“Oh. I was expecting...”

“You were expecting what?” he said, clearly put off by her obvious displeasure.

“Nothing. It’s unimportant. A pleasure to meet you, I’m sure,” she said, her tone dubious as she extended her hand.

“The pleasure is mine.” He replied, obsequiously, clearly determined to charm her.

He brought her hand to his lips and planted a moist kiss to the back of it. Mac tried hard to hide her revulsion and fought the urge to snatch it away. She pulled it back slowly from his grasp.

“Might I suggest we adjourn to somewhere more private to discuss our business?” He suggested.

“Lead the way.”

He placed his hand proprietarily on the small of her back and steered her toward one of the alcoves on the edge of the room. His clammy hand wandered a bit—clearly copping a feel under the pretense of guiding her—and left the fabric of her gown feeling slightly damp. Her skin crawled.

They entered the alcove and she took a seat on the curved, upholstered bench. Jack went to stand behind her, blending into the background and facing out toward the main room where he could see anyone that might approach.

“Might I suggest your friend wait outside?” Carle said, nodding toward Jack.

“He stays,” Mac replied.

Carle shrugged. He snapped his fingers at a passing waitress before closing the curtains and slid onto the bench beside Mac. Far too close for comfort, but she held her ground, knowing if she gave an inch it would be seen as weakness.

“Shall we get down to business, Mr. Carle?”

“What’s the hurry, sweetheart?” He placed a hand on her thigh. “I’ve got drinks on the way. Pleasure before business I always say.”

“Whereas I prefer not to mix business with pleasure,” Mac said, lifting his hand from her leg and dropping it onto the seat.

“I was under the impression your business _was_ pleasure,” he said, coldly, “and I’ve heard it is a great pleasure indeed.”

He reinserted his hand upon her thigh, even higher than it had been before, the leering smile putting his yellow teeth on full display.

Jack bristled, stepping forward, but Mac raised her hand to stop him.

She had been a woman in a man’s field for many years. She knew a power play when she saw one. Not only did Carle want the upper hand in their negotiations, he wanted her, and he was a man used to getting what he wanted.

They needed him to bite on the drug buy, so she couldn’t afford to offend him too greatly. She’d need to walk a fine line. Let him think he might just have his way without conceding total control.

“I’m not surprised to hear my reputation proceeds me. I am very good at my job, Mr. Carle, but we have other business to attend to tonight,” she said with an amused and arrogant smile. “What say we get one negotiation out of the way before we start in on another? Though, I warn you, I am selective,” she let her gaze drop momentarily to his lap as she once again removed his hand, this time with less hostility, “and very expensive.”

When she met his eyes again, the look of rabid lust in them turned her sly smile to one of revulsion before she could control it, but that only seemed to enflame him more.

“It’s a good thing then, that I’m an _experienced_ and very wealthy man,” Carle said, nearly salivating.

“Then, perhaps we can do business after all,” she said with a teeth baring grin.

Jack had watched the scene play out with growing alarm. When she’d said she could handle Carle, he’d assumed Mac would shut this kind of thing down, but here she was, going off script and clearly giving this oafish lout the impression that more than drugs was on offer tonight.

He wasn’t sure what she was playing at or how she wanted him to react. Surely, Alfie would be aware of Moll’s occupation and not object to it. And, he couldn’t behave possessively, or try to control her behavior without diminishing her power in Carle’s eyes, and she needed that power now more than ever.

He couldn’t help but think that had Phryne been here in Mac’s place, she’d have been able to tell him with one glance what she needed. In the same moment he knew that was only because their history had taught him to trust Phryne completely. He’d need to do the same with Mac.

He’d need to trust that she knew what she was doing. So, he held his tongue, but if Carle put his hands on her one more time, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep up the cool and disinterested facade.

A young woman appeared with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. Carle waved her in, took the champagne and popped the cork. He poured two glasses, handing one to Mac, then raised his own in a toast.

“To negotiations,” he said. “Let’s get the tedious part out of the way and move on to more stimulating activities.”

Mac touched her glass to his and Carle seemed to relax.

“I’d love to show you around my enterprise and get your opinion. I’ve spent a bit of time in Paris, sampling the establishments in their red-light district and have tried to emulate much of what I saw there. The French understand the value of the services you and I provide. It is a shame the Australian authorities are so close-minded. At least in public,” he said with knowing grin, “of course that just makes it all the more lucrative for you and me.”

Jack knew of the Paris ‘maison closes’ too. They had been very popular with soldiers during the war. In fact, their patronage was often encouraged as a means of improving morale. Australian soldiers, with their pay of six shillings, could afford higher-class service and Jack had heard tales of elaborate bordellos, one even rumored to have been so frequently visited by Edward VII that he had his own room there.

The difference between those establishments and this one, was that those were authorized by the government, giving the women working there some legal protections.

Jack thought it highly hypocritical that members of his own government were happy to privately visit the country's brothels, while publicly condemning them, leaving the desperate workers at the mercy of unscrupulous men, and few women as well.

“I’d be very curious to see what you’ve created here, Mr. Carle,” Mac said, with a glance at Jack and he knew she was thinking of Phryne and wondering if they might not find a way to help her after all.

* * *

 Phryne and Bert were led through a heavy, velvet curtain, up an elaborate staircase that opened onto a large parlour at the landing.

The room reminded Phryne of the parlour at House of Flueri, where she’d spent many afternoons sipping champagne while models paraded through, draped in their latest creations, for her to peruse. But where that room was tastefully understated, so as not to detract from the dresses on display, this room was lurid in the extreme.

The ostentatious atmosphere of the downstairs was multiplied tenfold up here. Phryne and Bert sat on overstuffed chairs upholstered in deep purple, crushed velvet. Two columns covered in gold leaf split the large room. An enormous fireplace occupied one wall, and another was covered floor to ceiling with mirrors that reflected the dim glow from crystal beaded chandeliers.

Everywhere there was erotic imagery. Statues of couples in various positions—some quite creative even by Phryne’s standards—sat on ornately carved plinths, and paintings depicting nudes of women, men, and orgies hung on the walls. A fire blazed and the heavy smell of incense filled the air, making the room feel too warm and close.

The man that had brought them here hadn’t batted an eye at their request and had gone to round up women meeting Phryne’s specifications. While they awaited his return, a girl, wearing nothing but high heeled shoes, appeared with a bottle of champagne on a silver tray. Phryne took the glass offered to her, and then the second one for Bert, who was determinedly trying to look anywhere but at their server.

“Thank you,” Phryne said, smiling sweetly, as her stomach churned. The girl was so young and so beautiful. She smiled in return, but her eyes had the glazed over look of one under the influence of something stronger than alcohol and it broke Phryne’s heart.

She’d heard rumors that Carle kept most of the money earned by these women to himself, paying them in opium and cocaine, getting them addicted, and thereby chained to him and his den of ill repute until they were too far gone to be of use to him. Then he tossed them out, forcing them to work meaner streets in order to feed the addiction he’d cultivated. Their lives were short and brutal.

She needed to find April and get her out of here before she wore the same defeated look. After that, maybe she could find a way to shut down this entire abominable place.

The pretense of respectability. The people in their finery, enjoying themselves downstairs, knowing full well that upstairs women and young girls, trapped by poverty and circumstance, were being abused and then thrown to the wolves kindled a fire in her.

She steeled her resolve and handed a glass of champagne to the man seething silently at her side.

“Don’t look so grumpy, darling,” she cajoled, clamping down the anger flaring in her belly, “this is meant to be fun.”


	4. Chapter 4

“I think, perhaps, you’ve forgotten where you are, Ms. Brand” Carle said, “this isn’t Sydney. The price you’re asking, for the amount on offer, is laughable.”

“I know where I am and I’ve done my homework. You’re market here in Melbourne is robust,” Mac said. “I have a unique product in limited quantity, that makes it valuable. My asking price is not unreasonable.”

As she spoke, she held out her hand to Jack. He dug a small package from the inside pocket of his jacket, and placed it in her palm. She set in on the table and made a show of carefully unfolding the paper to reveal the fine, white powder.

“Feel free to test it yourself, Mr. Carle,” she said, “and consider the rest of this sampling my gift to you, but I’d suggest that you not indulge in it further until our negotiations are complete. I wouldn’t want to take advantage of you in a compromised state.”

He locked his eyes on her and sucked his pinky finger between his puffy lips—she got the impression he meant the gesture to look sexy—then gathered a bit of the powder on the moistened fingertip.

“Join me,” he dared, his chubby hand, pinky extended, hovering in front of his face. “I don’t trust anyone that doesn’t appreciate their own merchandise.”

Mac met his gaze, accepting the challenge, and touched her pinky to her tongue.

His eyes dilated. He leaned forward and made low rumbling sound that had her fighting to hold back a laugh.

He’d actually growled at her!

All she’d done was lick her finger and this man believed they were in the midst of some mutual seduction. Men were so easy.

As she brought her hand toward the paper, she swiped her pinky against her palm, maintaining eye contact so he wouldn’t notice the maneuver. When she touched the powder, very little of it clung to the tip of her finger. She brought it to her mouth quickly, this time closing her eyes and making a great show of sucking the digit and humming with pleasure.

Carle immediately followed suit, nodding in a satisfied manner. He returned for a second taste, this time curling his lips back and rubbing the powder on his gums.

“Very nice,” he said.

“Do we have a deal, Mr. Carle?”

“I believe we do,” he said, jovially, “and please, call me Ned, now that we're friends.”

“All right, Ned, and you may call me Moll,” Mac said.

“How soon can you get the rest here?” He asked, folding up the remaining sample and slipping it into his pocket.

“I have a man nearby with the parcel. If you have the cash, it can be yours within minutes.”

“Excellent,” Carle said. “Send your man to retrieve it and you and I can retire to my office for the payment.”

“Moll is coming with me,” Jack declared.

"Don't be ridiculous. Why should she go traipsing about in the dark. That's what she has you for. The money is in the safe, upstairs in my office and I prefer to conclude our business there,” Carle said. “You’re quite safe with me, Moll. We agreed one negotiation before another and I’m a gentleman. I keep my word.”

“Very well,” Mac said, after a beat. She rose and took the arm he offered.

“Moll,” Jack said, a note of warning in his voice.

“You heard Ned. He’s a gentleman,” she gripped Carle’s arm with both of hers and pulled herself tight to him. “You run along now, Alfie. Get our merchandise and come find us in his office— _upstairs_.”

She raised an eyebrow at Jack, hoping her was cottoning on to her plan. Not that she had much of one, other than to get upstairs, where Phryne was, in the hopes they could somehow assist her and assure her safety. Jack nodded, but the set of his jaw told her he was anything but happy about this development. They had agreed they wouldn't separate.

“Where exactly is this office of yours?” he asked Carle.

“Through the curtain at the end of the bar and up the stairs. First door on your left. Do be sure to knock,” Carle said with a sneer.

* * *

 

“Where do you want me,” the girl asked, as soon as the door had closed behind them. She sounded resigned and tired. Her hands were already working to remove what little clothing she wore.

“Wait,” Phryne said.

Bert leapt forward, removing his suit coat and laying it over the girls shoulders. She took hold of it, pulling it around herself, eyeing them curiously.

“You don’t want me to undress?”

“No, April. Please, sit down.”

“How do you know my name?” Her curiosity turned to alarm.

“My name is Phryne Fisher. You’re sister sent me,” Phryne whispered.

“Mary sent you? Is something wrong? Is she sick?”

“No, nothing like that," Phryne said, looking around to take a survey room. "April, do you know if your bosses are listening to us?”

April shook her head. “I doubt it”.

She went to the wall and beckoned for Phryne to follow, pointing out a small hole in one of the paintings. Phryne had seen the technique before. She was sure if she shifted the painting there’d be a corresponding hole in the wall large enough for a man to peep though and probably have a decent view of the whole room, though the sight line appeared centered on the bed.

“They look in, but not right away. They like to wait until things have warmed up a bit."

“Then we’d better work fast if we’re going to get you out of here.”

To Phryne’s surprise, April laughed. A bitter, rueful laugh.

“Mary sent you here to get me out? She’s even more naive than she always accused me of being. What does she think? That I can just walk out with the two of you?”

“That’s exactly what’s going to happen, but not with both of us, just him,” Phryne nodded at Bert. “We’ll dress you up in my clothing and you’ll simply walk out at his side.”

“Simple as that, eh? And what then? I’m guessing Mary told you how I ended up here? Even if I can get away, and considering Carle doesn’t send someone after me, do you think Roy won’t come looking? He’ll be on me in a minute. And if I refuse to come back and finish paying off his debt, he’ll drag me back here himself, or he’ll kill me. There ain’t no way out of here for me.”

“We will get you out and away to somewhere Roy won’t find you,” Phryne said. “I have a cab waiting on the next block that will take you to the station where Mary is waiting for you. You’re both leaving tonight for a new life. I have a friend that runs holiday cottages in Lorne. She’ll take you on as help for a small salary, plus room and board.”

“Me and Mary both?” April said, a first glimmer of hope appearing in her eyes, only to fade quickly. “Mary’s got a life here. She’s got friends, and a half-way decent job. Why would she give that up for me?”

“Because you’re her sister,” Phryne said. “I imagine she’d do anything to help you.”

April blinked and large tears rolled down her cheeks. “She always looks out for me, and I always let her down. She even tried to warn me about Roy but I wouldn’t listen. I messed up my own life. I can’t mess up her’s too. Tell her to just forget me and move on.”

“Believe me, she can’t do that. If you really want your sister to be happy, then you’ll let us help you,” Phryne said. “There’s a better life waiting for you both in Lorne. You can start over.”

“You really think this could work?”

“I do.”

“She’s always helping people,” Bert added, “and she’s good at it.”

April looked back and forth between the two curious strangers.

“Mary does love the seaside,” she said, wiping her eyes.

Phryne smiled and pulled the wig off her head.

“Right. Now, let’s get you changed.”

As she set about transforming April, Bert took up his complaints one more time.

“I still don’t like the idea of leaving you behind.”

“We’ve been over this.”

“You’re not planning to walk out a here looking like your own self though are ya?” he argued. “They’re gonna know she’s gone missin’ and if someone recognizes you, they’ll know right where to come asking after her. You’re putting yourself—and you’re whole house—on the line.”

She glared at him. It was unfair—as well as an effective tactic—to accuse her of putting Dot and Mr. Butler at risk.

“For your information, I’ve thought of that,” she said. “I have a bit of a disguise in my bag.”

She drew out long, gold lamé scarf and began wrapping it around her head, turban style, to partially cover her hair. Bert scoffed.

“Right. I hardly know ya,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“I’ll sneak downstairs when no one is looking,” she said, easily, “and once I’m there, it doesn’t matter if I’m recognized. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been seen in such an establishment. As long as I’m not associated with the woman that came up here, no one in my household will be in any danger. Don’t worry about me. Your job is protecting April.”

“Fine. I’ll take her to Cec, but we’re waiting for you. If you don’t come out in ten minutes, I’m coming back in after you.”

“You’ll do no such thing! You and Cec need to get April to the train station as quickly as possible. And you’re to wait there until you see her on board and the train leave the station.”

“Cec can handle that. It don’t take two of us.”

“Cec hasn’t met Mary! How will he find her?”

“I reckon April here will know her own blood? Am I right?” He looked at April, who smiled for the first time, seemingly enjoying this little back and forth between her rescuers.

“Yes,” she said. “Please, Miss Fisher. You’re friend is right to be worried for you. Listen to him.”

Bert puffed up his chest looking smug. “Hear that? Listen to me.”

Phryne sighed. “Send Cec on with April, but you wait outside for a good twenty minutes before coming in after me. If I’m recognized downstairs I may have to stay and act like I’m here for the entertainment and I don’t want the cavalry bursting in and raising alarms.”

She made sure all of April’s own hair was tucked up under the wig and then helped her into the long, velvet cloak.

“Your sister has your things and I’ve booked a private compartment for you both on the train. Just keep the cloak closed tightly until you’re on board and have a chance to change.” She looked down. “What size are your feet?”

“My feet?”

“I’m thinking we should exchange shoes as well,” Phryne said.

The cheap high heels April wore were hardly Phryne's style, but she’d noticed that all the girls wore the same ones—Carle must get a volume discount—and should one of his men spot them as April made her escape, the jig would be up. She unbuckled her gold, strappy heeled sandals, already lamenting their loss, and handed them over to April.

“I’ll get all this back to you,” the girl said, eyeing the beautiful shoes and running her hand over the fine fox fur collar of the velvet cloak.

“Don’t worry about that,” Phryne said, with a wave of her hand. “Hurry up and get those on. You two need to get moving or you’ll miss the night train.”

* * *

Jack watched Mac retreat into the crowd on Carle’s arm and then hurried outside to find Collins.

Hugh leaned against the building a few hundred yards from the main entrance. A lit cigarette, that was burning down without ever touching his lips, dangled from his fingers. He wore a nondescript tweed jacket and a flat cap pulled low over his eyes. Somewhere on his person he hid a large paper parcel.

Hugh was armed and had backup nearby, and Jack knew he could handle himself in a fight, but he'd still had worried for him, standing alone, in a rough neighborhood, with a stash of cocaine in hand.

It wasn’t ideal, but there’d been no other way. Moll would never have the drugs on her before a deal was struck with Carle, and they couldn’t arrest the man until the cocaine was in his possession. If they wanted this all to go down in one night, the drugs needed to be nearby and Collins was the only officer Jack would trust with them.

He sighed with relief to see him standing there in one piece, and approached under the guise of bumming a smoke.

After determining they were alone, Jack took possession of the parcel and tucked it up under his suit coat as they finalized the plans. They didn’t expect Carle to go quietly, so Hugh was to wait five minutes for the payoff to take place, then enter the club with his men and while Carle's men were occupied with the raid, Jack would make the arrest.

Watches synchronized, Jack dropped the cigarette to the ground, snuffed it out with his shoe and turned to head back inside. The door to the club opened and two people exited. A man and a woman. Jack and Collins melted back into the shadows as the couple came in their direction.

“Bump him,” Jack hissed.

“What?” Hugh asked.

“Get in his way and pick a fight.”

Hugh sprang from the wall, walked toward the couple and roughly bumped up against the man’s shoulder.

“Watch where you’re going!” he growled, grabbing the man’s lapels, his eyes widening in surprise upon recognition.

“Oi!” Bert shouted, raising his fists, then freezing in place. “Collins?”

Jack leapt between them, making a show of pushing them apart.

“Knock it off, that ain’t no way to behave in front of a lady,” Jack said, for the benefit of anyone nearby the might overhear. He gave Hugh a bit of a shove then rounded on Bert.

“You left her alone?” 

“It’s what she wanted,” Bert defended.

“And you allowed it?”

“Have _you_ ever won an argument with that woman?” Bert said, and Jack deflated.

“What’s her plan?” he asked.

“Cec is waitin’ round the corner to take the girl to the train. Miss Fisher’s got twenty minutes to get her ass out, or I’m goin’ in after her. That’s the deal.”

“Twenty minutes is too long. My men are raiding the place in five,” Jack said, his mind whirring. He wanted to find Phryne and drag her out of that place, but Mac was alone with Carle and he couldn’t be in two places at once.

“Are you armed?” He asked Bert.

“What if I am?”

“I’m not looking to arrest you for illegal possession of a firearm, Johnson,” Jack snapped, “I’m asking if you can defend yourself.”

“I’ve got her Luger,” Bert admitted, patting his side.

“All right. Collins, you take Miss—I’m sorry, I don’t know your name,” Jack said to April, “but I’m Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.”

“You’re police?” April said in alarm. "Are you going to arrest me?"

"No. We're going to help you. This is Senior Constable Collins, he’s going to escort you to a cab where Mr. Yates is waiting to take you to the train station, do you understand?”

April looked at first at Collins and then Bert. Both men were nodding encouragingly.

“Collin’s a good man and so is Cec. They’ll take care of you,” Bert said.

April nodded, looking slightly bewildered.

“Good,” Jack said, “Collins, take the young lady to Yates so he can get her away. Then give me ten minutes before coming in with the men. I’ll stall things with Carle to give Miss Fisher a little more time.”

To his credit, Hugh didn't question the sudden turn in the case, or the apparent presence of Miss Fisher on the scene. He simply nodded and extended his arm to April as Bert handed her over.

“Where do ya want me, then?” Bert asked.

“You’re coming back inside with me. Wait at the end of the bar, near the staircase. As soon as Miss Fisher descends those stairs, get her out of there.”

“And if she don’t appear before your men come in?”

“Then you do whatever you need to do to find her,” Jack said.


	5. Chapter 5

Phryne removed her stockings and draped them over the painting hoping it obscured the vision through the peephole without looking too suspicious.

She went to the mirror to make sure her scarf was in place and smoothed damp hands over her hips thinking that perhaps Bert was right. The bright gold was a bit ostentatious. She’d be more successful moving around upstairs if she blended with the other girls.

She removed the gold scarf and ruffled her hair a little, then took a handkerchief from her bag and wiped the lipstick from her mouth. Looking around the room she spotted a red silk, fringed shawl draped over a lampshade. She plucked it off, shook it vigorously to dispel any dust and, trying hard not to think about the general lack of cleanliness in places such as this, wrapped it around her shoulders.

She briefly considered stripping to her lingerie to make the transition even more convincing, but that wouldn’t serve her once she got downstairs, where she planned to shed the shawl and replace it with the lamé wrap to fit in better with the gambling and partying crowd.

She checked her watch. Bert and April had been gone for five minutes. She’d heard no commotion since then and hoped that meant they’d gotten out safely. She’d give them a bit longer to be well on their way before attempting her own escape. She sat down impatiently on the bed, her ears tuned for any sound, and waited.

* * *

“Do you remember which room she’s in?” Jack asked, as he and Bert made their way back inside.

“I think so. Yeah.”

“Good. Carle’s office is at the top of the stairs, on the left. Steer clear of it.”

Once through the doors, they parted ways, Bert fading into a crowd around the roulette table, while Jack headed for the upper level. He hoped he’d cross paths with Phryne as she made her way to safety, but there was no sign of her. He paused for a moment when he reached the velvet curtain that hid the staircase for one last look around, then bounded up the stairs. Outside Carle's office he was immediately confronted by a bodyguard.

The man had been trailing Carle all night and Jack had long ago spotted the tell-tale bulge of a revolver under his jacket. It was well known that Carle himself didn’t carry a gun, but he was rarely without an armed guard nearby.

“Mr. Carle is expecting me,” Jack said, as he stepped past and made to knock. The bodyguard pushed him back.

“Not so fast. You need turn over your weapons.”

“I’m not carrying.”

Jack had expected this too, and had come unarmed. It put him at a disadvantage, but he hadn’t wanted to risk a police issued weapon ending up in criminal hands. The upcoming raid was meant to pull any bodyguards away, leaving Carle unprotected, so that Jack could make the arrest unhindered.

“Do you expect me to take your word on that?” The bodyguard sneered.

Jack opened his jacket, revealing the hidden parcel as well as the lack of a firearm, and allowed a quick pat down.

He wondered if Mac had been subjected to this treatment. He’d warned her against bringing a weapon, and her dress certainly left no place to hide one, but he didn’t doubt this goon would’ve relished the opportunity to run his hands all over her. Once again he regretted their having been separated and hoped she’d been able to talk her way out of anything too invasive.

Once the man was confident Jack was unarmed, he rapped on the door, and upon Carle’s command, opened it. Jack’s breath caught in his throat.

Carle was seated at his ornate, walnut desk with Mac perched on the desktop at his side, her legs crossed, facing away from Jack. Carle was leaned back in his chair, smiling up at her, utterly enthralled.

Jack shook his head, trying to dispel an unwelcome thought. His mouth was suddenly too dry and the room uncomfortably warm. Mac spun, smiled at him and hopped off of Carle’s desk.

“There you are!” She said, lightly admonishing him. She took the parcel from his hands, “we thought you’d gotten lost! Ned and I have just been getting acquainted." She returned to Carle’s side of the desk, standing so close her hip was nearly brushing up against the man’s arm.

Jack knew Mac was using the proximity of her body to keep Carle distracted and happy, but somehow, that knowledge wasn’t as comforting as it should have been. He couldn’t help but picture a different woman, perched on a different desk, wondering if her motives had been similar, and if his face had worn an expression equally as ridiculous as Carle’s.

“Shall we get down to business?” Mac said, setting the parcel on the desk in front of Carle.

Jack snapped back to the present. This was moving too fast. Mac didn’t know he’d delayed the raid to give Phryne more time. He had to slow things down. He stepped forward and snatched the parcel back just as Carle reached for it.

He needed to somehow let Mac know they had to stretch the transaction out a bit without tipping off Carle that anything was wrong.

“Money first,” he growled, nastily, “and, how about you step back, Moll. He ain’t paid for you yet either.”

Mac’s eyes narrowed as she took in this change in his demeanor. She seemed to be weighing her response as she tried to discern what he wanted of her.

“What is this, Alfie? It’s not like you to be jealous.”

“Of him?” Jack laughed, “As long as he pays the going rate, I ain’t bothered if he gets a _few more minutes_ of your time. That’s all it’s likely to take.”

He saw the understanding dawn in her eyes and she drew herself up indignantly.

“Don’t forget your place,” she bit back coldly. “I don’t work for you. You don’t dictate how I conduct my business.”

“How could I forget when you keep reminded me?” He snarled, “Just how much longer do you think I’ll be willing to play your lap dog Moll?”

“As long as I want you to,” she replied. She slid her arm around Carle’s neck, implying a shift in allegiance.

Jack was impressed by her agile response to the turn of events. It was a good ploy too, pretending a rift between them. It was already lulling Carle into an arrogant, but false, sense of security. He glared at Jack, his lips curling into a cruel smile as his hand came up to rest around Mac’s waist. He pulled her closer, turning her so that her breasts were even with his mouth, as he leaned in, she pushed back on his shoulders playfully.

“Now, now, Ned. Don’t be impatient,” she said laughing. “Let’s get this first business out of the way before we move on to more pleasant endeavors.”

She pulled herself from his grasped and walked away under under the pretense of retrieving the parcel from Jack. This served to put the desk safely between her and Carle.

“I do appreciate a woman that knows her business, Moll,” Carle said, He stood and removed the painting from the wall behind his desk, revealing a safe. Within a minute, he’d retrieved a wad of cash from inside, dropping it with great ceremony onto the desktop.

“Count it, Alf,” Mac ordered, setting the drugs down beside the pile of money.

Jack counted the bills slowly, hoping they’d bought Phryne enough time and expecting, at any moment, to hear sounds that indicated his men had started their raid. Unfortunately, the commotion that followed was not the raid, but Carle’s bodyguard bursting through the office door.

“We got a problem, boss.”

Mac gasped. Jack turned and looked into a pair of impossibly blue and defiant eyes.

“What is this!” Carle shouted, “I’m in the middle of a business deal here!”

“One of the girls is gone and this sheila’s got something to do with it.”

“What do you mean ‘gone’?”

“Jones said this one here came in earlier with a bloke. They were real particular about what they wanted. When Jones did his check the bloke and our girl were gone and this one was alone in the room. Jones brought her to me. He’s gone after the bloke.”

Jack hoped Bert was keeping his head down. He tried to catch Mac’s eye but her focus was on Carle, who was advancing on Phryne. He considered identifying himself and making the arrest on the spot, but with the raid not yet underway and the armed bodyguard in the room, it was a less than optimal moment.

You stole one of my girls?” Carle asked.

“You can’t have stolen what never belonged to you,” Phryne answered defiantly.

Carle grinned, or, more accurately, bared his teeth, and pulled something from his pocket. Making a meal of bringing it into view, he opened the straight razor slowly, its blade gleaming in the light as it unfolded from the sheath.

A ruckus rose from downstairs.

“What now!” Carle roared. “Get down there and see what that’s about.”

“What about her?” His man asked.

“Leave her with me,” Carle ordered.

Loud shouts, banging and alarmed cries marked the beginning of the raid. It worked to draw the armed guard away, but with Carle now circling Phryne threateningly, brandishing that razor, Jack didn’t dare make his move.

“There’s something you should know about me,” Carle said. “When someone takes what’s mine—and make no mistake, the girl was mine—they pay for it.” His eyes moved up and down Phryne’s body. “In this case, I know just how to get my due. You’ll be very popular. A good little earner.”

“You think I’d work for you? I’d rather die,” she spat.

“That can be arranged, luv. Not as lucrative for me, but satisfying in its own way.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Phryne said.

“You should be.”

In a flash Carle drew the razor back to strike. Jack threw himself in front of Phryne, raising his left arm to take the blow, his right arm striking out. His fist crashed into Carle’s face with a resounding crack.

Carle staggered back, cursing.

“Bloody bastard!” He yelled, raising the blade once more.

Jack turned, pulling Phryne to him and curling himself around her. He braced for the blow that would slice his back open.

“Mark him and I’ll cut your throat.”

Mac stood behind Carle. She held a thin stiletto blade to his neck. Her voice was icy and her grip steady.

Carle raised his hands to the sky in a defensive posture. Blood dripped from his nose onto his red waistcoat. Dark, splotchy stains marring the silk.

“Come now, Moll,” he said. “We’re all friends here. I’ve got nothing against your man, but he got in my way.”

“Alfie’s a softy. He don’t like to see a woman abused, and neither do I.”

“Perhaps I was a bit hasty. What say we both put our weapons away and I reconsider my options? It'd be a shame to mar that beauty anyway.”

The noise from downstairs grew closer as Jack’s men breached the second floor. Doors slammed, men shouted and women screamed. The unmistakable sound of a gunshot exploded just outside the office door. 

Mac’s grip faltered and Carle spun, raising the razor again, this time taking aim at her.

Before Jack could react, something whizzed past his ear and he watched a heavy paperweight collide with the back of Carle’s skull. The man crumpled to the floor, the razor clattering harmlessly down beside him. Jack moved quickly to wrench Carle’s arms behind his back and pulled the stunned man to his feet.

“Ned Carle. You’re under arrest for possession of a controlled substance, on the authority of Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, City South Police.”

“Don’t forget false imprisonment and solicitation, Jack,” Phryne said, opening the office door, stepping over the prone figure of the bodyguard and calling to the men outside. Hugh Collins rushed in, followed closely by Bert.

“Good to see you, gentleman,” Jack said. “Collins, would be so kind as to cuff Mr. Carle.”

Hugh took hold of the man, securing him in irons, ignoring Carle’s curses and threats and promises of the end of his police career.

“Did you get her out?” Phryne asked turning to Bert.

“Yeah, she’s gone,” he replied, his gaze repeatedly drifting to Mac.

“Put your eyes back in your head, Johnson. I've had enough ogling for one night,” Mac barked.

“Sorry, Doc, but ya look—well—different,” he said, nodding appreciatively.

“Don’t get used to it.”

Out of the corner of her eye Mac saw Jack wobble and noticed, for the first time, the blood soaking his sleeve. She moved swiftly to pull off his jacket, tearing at the shredded shirtsleeve to get a look at his wound.

“I didn’t realize he’d cut you,” she said. “You should add assaulting a police officer to those charges.”

She looked up when she got no response and was alarmed by the way the color was draining from his face. She pushed him down into a chair to keep him from collapsing.

“This needs binding. Fast.” She grabbed at the hem of her dress to rip it.

“Wait!” Phryne cried, pulling the lamé scarf from her bag, “It would be a shame to destroy that gown.”

Mac rolled her eyes and grabbed the scarf. Phryne helped to tear away the rest of Jack’s sleeve, gasping at the amount of blood. It poured from the wound at an alarming rate.

“How bad is it?” Phryne asked. She too had been unaware that Carle’s blade had connected before Jack had hit him. She hovered anxiously with her hands on his shoulders, massaging them mechanically.

“It will need stitching. Hopefully this will hold off the bleeding until I can do it properly.”

“I’m not sure it’s really my style,” Jack said, as he watched the shiny gold fabric encircle his forearm.

“You wear it well,” Mac replied, relieved at both his quip and the color returning to his face. He’d been so quiet she’d feared he was going into shock.

Phryne bent and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, wrapping her arms around his chest, holding him tight. “Are you all right, Jack?”

“I’m fine, love. Just a little light headed for a minute there. It's passed. Are you both all right?” The women nodded. “What about him?”

All eyes turned to Carle. The blood flow from his nose had slowed. He’d calmed down some and looked slightly confused. Either from the blows to the head, or the scene he was witnessing, which must have been confusing, considering no one appeared to be who he had thought they were.

“Looks like you broke his nose, and I'm sure he has a nice bump on the noggin, but he’ll probably survive,” Mac said, sounding almost disappointed. “He should see a doctor though—preferably one other than me.”

“Call for an ambulance Collins,” Jack ordered, “and send a man to keep him under guard. We need to get the money and drugs to the station.

“What we need is to get you to hospital and have that arm taken care of,” Mac said.

“That will have to wait,” Jack stated.

“The wound needs stitching!” Mac insisted.

“Then do it here.”

“Using what? Do I look like I have my bag on me?”

“Will you two stop arguing like an old married couple?” Phryne said. “It’s unnerving. If Jack won’t go to the hospital, then we’ll bring the hospital to him. Mac and I will go get her medical things and bring them to the station, if Jack will promise to sit still for a minute and let her take care of him there.”

The look she gave Jack brooked no opposition, and he nodded his agreement.

“But, the station is hardly a sterile environment,” Mac objected.

“This operation didn’t exactly go to plan,” Jack argued. “There will be questions and I can’t leave my men to face them alone.”

“He won’t be swayed,” Phryne advised.

Mac looked from one stubborn expression to the other. “Two against one, is it? You both are unbearable. You deserve each other.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got really long because I felt I had a lot to wrap up. It jumps around a bit. I hope that's not too confusing!

“Sir, Sir!”

“What is it Constable?” Jack and Hugh had barely stepped through the doors at City South before the man on the desk was calling to him.

“The Deputy Commissioner, sir. He’d like to hear from you as soon as possible.”

Jack glanced at the clock. “It’s after midnight.”

“He’s called several times tonight. Seems anxious to reach you. He said you could call him at home.” The young man hesitated. “I think it was more an order than a request, sir.”

“All right. Thank you, Constable.”

He’d been hoping to avoid this until the morning. The scope of things rather grew as the night went on and the case against Carle was now more complicated than it was meant to be.

“Do you think he’s already heard about Carle’s injuries?” Collins asked.

“Don’t see how he could have, but there were a lot of eyes on this one, so you never know. You’d better quickly fill me in on the details of the raid before I make the call.”

“Yes, sir. Well, it was pretty standard to start. Sergeant Koorong and I came through the front. I sent Angus and Robertson to the back exit, but they weren’t to stop people from leaving, the plan was just to create chaos, keep Carle’s men occupied.”

“We heard a shot. Did any of our men discharge a firearm?”

“No, sir. That was Carle’s man. The one left unconscious outside the office. I saw him heading back upstairs and gave chase. I was afraid he’d alert Carle and mess things up. When I reached the landing he took a shot at me.”

“How did you subdue him?”

“Ah, well—that would be Bert, sir,” Hugh said, sheepishly. “He must have been looking for Miss Fisher in the hallway. Anyway, he came from behind and clocked the guy.”

“Hmmm. I’m glad he was there, but it might be best if it was an unknown assailant that came to your assistance. At least for the reporting. I see no reason to tie Johnson up in the middle of this.”

“I might have been mistaken in my identification, sir. It all happened fast.”

“Good man. Anything else?”

“No. Nothing you don't already know. Miss Fisher opened the door a minute later and I went to assist you. The other men remained below stairs until I called for the ambulance.”

“All right. Thank you, Collins. Secure the evidence in the locker and then you can head home. I’d better get this call over with.”

 

* * *

 

“Do you really think you’ve time to change? Shouldn’t we get to the station as quickly as possible?” Phryne asked, following Mac into her room.

“If you were so concerned about getting him stitched up quickly, you should have sided with me in the first place. A few more minutes won’t matter, and I’m sure we can make up the time, considering the way you drive.”

Phryne helped Mac with the buttons on the back of the gown, then picked it up from the bed where Mac had let it fall.

“This really is lovely,” she said.

“It’s borrowed,” Mac replied. Phryne nodded, running the fine silk through her hands. This is what he’d have felt when he placed his hand on her back. 

“You and Jack seemed to work well together,” she said, her voice an octave higher than normal.

Mac laughed. She pulled a white button down shirt from her closet, followed by a tailored waistcoat and coordinating, cuffed trousers.

“Why is that funny?” Phryne inquired, watching as the femme fatale in front of her turn once again into her best friend.

“You’re just so transparent,” Mac said.

“How so? I was only making an observation.”

“You’re jealous.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I know you’ve no designs on Jack. Even if you did, I’d be in no position to object.”

“I meant professional jealousy, but it’s revealing that you had a different interpretation. Did it bother you? Seeing him with another woman? Even knowing it was all an act?”

“Of course not. And, don’t try to psychoanalyze me, Doctor. It’s not your area of speciality.”

“I don’t need a degree to see through you, Phryne.” Mac pulled on a pair of spectator brogues, then slipped into her suit jacket. “We’d best get moving. We can deal with your insecurities on the way.”

“I’m perfectly secure!” Phryne argued, hurrying after her. “By the way. You’ve not thanked me yet for saving your skin!”

“Nice try changing the subject. You’re forgetting that was after I stopped a madman from going through Jack to get to you. I’d say we’re more than even.”

Mac slapped a hat atop her head, grabbed her medical bag and strode out the door, leaving Phryne to follow in her wake.

Phryne drove through the streets, all but deserted at this time of night, at a speed far above what was recommended. She wondered why her mind had immediately gone to the romantic when Mac mentioned jealousy. Any jealousy had stemmed from the missed opportunity of working with him, hadn’t it?

The bonnet was up on her Hispano. It was very close inside and the quiet notable, but if Mac was bothered by her distracted silence, she didn’t mention it. At least not at first.

“It’s all right, you know. To love him. It doesn’t mean you’re weak.”

“I know that,” Phryne said.

“Good. Because sometimes I don’t think you understand just how brave it really is—to let yourself love someone.”

“It’s really not that difficult,” Phryne scoffed.

“I didn’t say it was difficult. I said it was brave. Allowing that kind of vulnerability is brave. It’s frightening to love, that’s why it can be so rewarding. If there was no hope of that reward, if it wasn’t worth it in the end, no one would ever try.”

Phryne was about to respond with a sarcastic remark about Mac’s sentimentality when she remembered Daisy. The love Mac had had to keep secret. The love she had lost.

“You’re right,” Phryne agreed, “but brave or difficult, sometimes, there really is no other choice, is there?”

“No. And you don’t need to worry about Jack. He adores you.”

“I’m not worried.”

“Then what’s bothering you?”

“It’s silly.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, I always thought that he was—oh, it’s too ridiculous!”

“Phryne?”

“The way he looked at me—from very early on. I thought he was enchanted by me. That sounds so shallow, and it was more than that. It pleased me to think he was attracted to me but plenty of men are. Jack was different. He looked at me like he really saw me. Not just what I look like, but me. I liked the way it felt to be looked at that way.”

“Of course you did. Anyone would. And I think he did see more of you than most and was enchanted. Even at the start. You’re not wrong.”

“But tonight. He looked at you the same way.”

“That wasn’t real.”

“Exactly.”

“Is that what’s bothering you? You think that because he could put on an act with me, he may be doing the same with you?”

“Not now. Now I know what we have, but earlier, maybe. How do I know it wasn’t make-believe then?”

“It wasn’t, Phryne. I saw it with my own eyes. Maybe it wasn’t always as serious as it is now, but what does that matter? What does it matter if he was just having a bit of fun in the beginning. Weren’t you doing the same? Everyone enjoys a good flirt now and again.”

“I suppose, but...”

“But what? You started out with an attraction that turned into a friendship and then something bigger. Isn’t that usually how it works?”

“I’ve no idea how it usually works.”

They pulled to the curb in front of City South and Phryne looked at the front doors, thinking how very familiar they were to her now and realizing just how much her life had changed these past few years. Largely because of him, and she wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Listen, Phryne,” Mac sighed. “Maybe Jack’s an accomplished flirt and maybe, in the beginning, he was just having a bit of a fun with you. Does that somehow diminish what you have now?”

“No,” Phryne said, after a moment’s consideration. “No, it doesn’t.”

“All right, then. My work here is done. I have _another_ patient to see,” Mac said, hopping from the car and heading for the doors. Phryne scrambled to catch up.

 

* * *

 

"It’s not as bad as I initially feared,” Mac said after cleaning Jack’s wound and getting a good look at it. “It didn’t go into the muscle and there’s no damage to major arteries. It’s clotting well, but I still want to stitch it up to protect against infection.”

“Fine. Get on with it,” Jack said, sullenly.

“Is there something wrong with my bedside manner, Inspector?”

“Sorry. It's not you. I just spoke with the Deputy Commissioner.”

“At this hour? That doesn’t bode well, does it,” Phryne said, pulling herself up onto her spot on the corner of his desktop.

“No. I’m afraid not,” Jack twisted in his seat to look at her.

“Hold still!” Mac complained.

“Sorry.”

“Why doesn’t it bode well?” she asked, bending to her task once more.

“Because things didn’t go to plan tonight,” Phryne said. Jack nodded.

“Exactly. Carle was getting too bold lately and the brass wanted to send a message. It’s a game they play. A way to keep balance. They don’t want to shut him down entirely, since many of them enjoy the services he provides, but they can’t let him get too powerful either. So, every once in awhile, we get to crack down, just not too hard. I was to disrupt his business for a night and make my quiet arrest. Carle would sit in a cell for a bit, stand before the Magistrate, get his slap on the wrist and be on his way. Message sent.”

“Then I got in the way,” Phryne said, sounding more proud than remorseful.

“Yes,” Jack smiled. “Now, instead of sitting safely in his cell, Carle’s in hospital. He assaulted an officer of the law and I’ve got the wound to prove it. That can’t be ignored, but the DC is pushing back on any charges against Carle for procuring. He says that it’s outside the scope of our investigation.”

“But that’s outrageous!” Mac said. Phryne, however, didn’t look at all surprised by the news.

“I didn’t see the evidence first hand. My men were instructed to remain below stairs and no one was to be prevented from leaving the building, so we have no witnesses. Besides, procurement is hard to prosecute on a good day. You need cooperation from the women, which puts them in trouble with the law themselves.”

“Even though many of them were made to work for him against their will,” Mac said, resigned. She wasn’t naive as to how these things worked.

“Right. The law doesn’t generally take that into account.”

“As has long been stated—and is very true in this case—the law is an ass,” Phryne said. Something in her tone set off alarm bells in Jack’s head.

“If you’re forming some grand plan to find a way around all of this, I’d rather not know,” he said.

“You can count me out too,” Mac said. “Moll Brand is going to have to behave herself, because my undercover days are over.”

“That’s too bad,” Jack said. “You showed great promise.”

“What’s going to become of Moll after all this?” Mac asked. “Will she see jail time?”

“Doubtful. The deal for information was that none of this fall on her. Alfie has claimed ownership of the entire scheme. He’ll serve time, though he should see some leniency for his cooperation.”

“I wonder if she’ll wait for him,” Mac said.

 

* * *

 

Jack laid his head back against the edge of the tub, closed his eyes and sighed contentedly. Phryne moved about nearby. Gathering a flannel and soap. He cracked open an eye, watching her.

“You really don’t need to fuss, you know. I’m sure I could manage on my own.”

“Mac says you’re to keep those stitches dry and I like to fuss.”

“Since when?”

“Lean forward so I can soap your hair,” she said, swatting his shoulder.

He shifted, gripping the edge of the tub with his right hand, leaving the left arm dangling over the other side out of reach of any splashed water.

“Did you enjoy working with Mac?”

“I did. More than I’d expected to,” he said. He twisted in the tub to look at her. “Is that all right?”

“Of course.”

“I’d have rather it’d been you.”

“I know. You don’t need to apologize, Jack. I understand. She was the better Moll. The resemblance between them is uncanny.”

“It really is.”

“You don’t much resemble Mr. Winstrop,” she said. “You’re much better looking. Though he is charming in his own way.”

“You could see that he's charming from a photograph?”

“His actions, Jack. While I firmly believe a woman should stand on her own two feet, I have to admire his devotion and desire to protect the woman he loves.”

“Perhaps he and I have more in common than might first be apparent. We’re both devoted to strong women that illicit an instinct toward protection—whether needed or not.”

“Does that mean you might someday also wear a tattoo declaring that devotion?”

“Hmmm. I’m not sure _‘Miss Fisher’_ has the same panache as _‘The Red Flame’_. Plus, I’d catch hell in the locker room at the station.”

“Then you’ll just have to come up with a better, and more covert, pet name for me.”

“I’ll give it some thought.”

He bent his head as she rinsed his hair.

“Doctor MacMillan was really quite remarkable tonight, and we worked well together, but I could never have done it without you.”

“Me? What did I do? Other than complicate matters.”

“If I hadn’t already learned what an asset a clever woman can be to an investigation, I wouldn’t have been able to trust Mac as I did, and that alone would’ve scuppered the whole thing.”

“Am I this clever woman who taught you so much?”

“One and the same.”

“You’re not just trying to placate me with flattery, are you Inspector?”

“Not tonight.”

“Not tonight? So you have used flattery in the past?”

“Of course. As, I believe, have you.”

“Have I?”

“Tonight, as I watched Mac handle Carle, I had the strangest sense of what the french refer to as déjà vu. I’d seen it before and it made me realize just how often I’d been similarly handled in the past.”

She shifted to the side of the tub, facing him and brushing the wet hair back from his eyes.

“It’s not in the past, Jack,” she said. “I do it all the time. I have many methods to distract you, or get what I want. I’m using one right now. This bath is just an excuse to run my hands all over you.”

“You don’t need an excuse for that.”

He sat up, wrapping his arms around her waist.

And there it was. The sly, teasing smirk. The glint is his eye. The smoldering lust that made the blood rush in her veins.

“You’re very good at this,” she said.

“Good at what?”

“Making a woman feel desired.”

“I’m glad you feel it, because I do desire you. Only you. So very much.”

He drew her to him gently, bringing his mouth inches from hers, but allowing her to close the last of the distance. She pulled back a long moment later. Her eyes remained shut. Her tongue darted out and swept across her upper lip, tasting the last remnants of his kiss.

She stood and reached for a towel, holding it out to him.

“As tempting as it would be to join you in there, Mac will have my head if you get those stitches wet.”

“Perhaps another time, Miss Fisher,” he said, rising from the tub and wrapping the towel around his waist.

“Oh, the time is now, Inspector,” she said, unfastening her dress and letting it fall to the floor. She stepped out and fixed him with a determined stare, then headed for her bedroom. “It’s only the place I object to. For your own good I suggest we retreat to higher ground.”

 

* * *

 

 A small group was gathered when Jack arrived. Mr. Butler took his coat and hat and directed him to the parlour where Dr. MacMillan was settled in a chair, drink in hand and the cabbies stood by the fireplace with Phryne. She smiled, beckoning him over.

“I was just filling Bert and Cec in on my news of April,” she said, pouring him a cocktail from a pitcher on the nearby bar cart. No doubt it was one of Mr. Butler’s delicious concoctions.

“Is she doing well?” he asked.

“Yes. She and her sister have settled in nicely and my friend is pleased with their work. She’s heading into her busy season at the cottages and she is very glad of the help.”

“No sign of trouble from the boyfriend?”

“We’ve been keeping an eye on him,” Bert said. “As far as we can tell he’s no idea where she is.”

“He’ll have to deal with his debt on his own,” Phryne said.

“He may be off the hook there. With Carle’s new troubles, I doubt he’ll have time to waste trying to collect on that debt,” Jack said.

“Oh?” Phryne asked innocently, “has Mr. Carle found himself on the wrong side of the law again?”

“It hasn’t come to that, but it might yet” Jack said. “The brass can’t afford to look the other way anymore. Not after that feature in _Women’s Choice_ about the sex trade in Melbourne. I wonder where Regina Charlesworth gets her information.”

“She’s an excellent journalist. I imagine she has any number of sources,” Phryne said. “Isn’t it amazing what shining a little light in dark places will do?”

“Yes,” Jack agreed, “and that light is making it hard for Carle to run his operation, what with the angry mobs of women picketing outside his doors. The ones that aren’t demonstrating are keeping a much closer eye on their husbands and as a result business is down.”

“My heart bleeds for him,” Mac said.

“Down right disgusting what went on in that place,” Bert said. “I’ve nothing against a bit of fun. The odd drink or occasional flutter. As long as it ain’t hurtin’ no one, where’s the harm? But, that place? The way they treated those girls. Police should’ve shut that down long ago, but half of them are as corrupt as the crims.”

“No offense personally, Inspector,” Cec said, apologizing for his mate’s implication.

“He’s not wrong in this instance, Cec,” Jack acknowledged, “though it pains me to say it. There’s a large population, even among law enforcement, that wants these services and is all too happy to turn a blind eye.”

“Then, to appease the self-righteous among their constituency, they arrest the women, which is appallingly hypocritical,” Phryne said. “Maybe the French have it right. Women have supported themselves this way for ages. At least with authorized brothels, the workers have some protections. For one thing, without the fear of arrest, they’re more able to speak up against abuses.”

“I’m not sure I agree with simply providing a safer environment for the women to work in,” Jack said.

“We’re never going to dry up demand for those services, so we need to dry up supply,” Mac said. “We, as a society, need to address the problems and lack of opportunity that force women into that life.”

“But, as it is mostly men that seek those services, and men who are in power, there’s not a lot of incentive there to improve a woman’s lot,” Phryne argued.

“I don’t think we’re going to solve this problem tonight, but at least Carle’s effectively out of the business of selling women. That’s a start,” Jack said.

“And April’s safe and that bastard won’t get his hands on any more girls like her,” Bert said.

“To a successful job, then,” Phryne said, raising her glass. “If not finished, at least well begun.”

The others finished their drinks rather hurriedly. Cec claimed plans with Alice, and Mac begged a ride home in the cab. Before long Phryne and Jack found themselves alone.

“Was it something I said?” Jack asked.

“I think it may have had more to do with the way I was looking at you,” Phryne said, “I haven’t seen you in days.”

“I’m sorry. It’s been busy at the station. I’ve missed you, too.”

“You’ll stay tonight, won’t you?”

“There’s no place I’d rather be.”

“Good,” she beamed at him. “Come. Sit beside me and tell me about your day.”

She took his hand and led him to the sofa. He settled into the cushions next to her and put an arm around her shoulder.

“There’s not much to tell,” he said. “Lot’s of paperwork, oh, and we’re breaking in a new constable. This one is even greener than Collins was. I simply asked him to take a woman’s statement...”

As he launched into his tale, she brought her feet up under her and curled into his side, sighing happily.

 

* * *

 

“Keep it,” Cec said, when Mac tried to pay for the ride. Bert looked at him askance but Cec ignored him.

“Really, Cec. I can afford the fare,” Mac said.

“We don’t charge friends, Doc.” This time Bert nodded in agreement.

“All right. Thank you,” Mac said.

As the car pulled from the curb, she heard Bert say, quietly, “wonder what Miss Fisher and the inspector are getting up to right about now.”

“It ain’t our business, Bert,” came the reply.

Mac laughed to herself. Phryne had made it painfully obvious she wanted to be alone with Jack. It was funny, really, seeing Phryne so twisted up about a man. Though, if there was going to be a man, Jack was an excellent choice.

Mac unlocked the door to her apartment and looked around. It was a bit of a mess, she decided. She hadn’t spend much time here lately. Between her work for the police and the hospital, it was little more than a place to rest her head. She spent about half an hour straightening up. Putting away dishes that had been left to dry by the sink and gathering old newspapers bound for the bin.

Without the clutter the place felt bigger. Bigger but quiet. Even with the window open to the street.

She put a record on the gramophone, turning the crank, and flipping the switch before carefully setting the stylus down on the spinning disk. She liked having music playing in her home. Her choice tonight was a recently acquired recording by Dame Nellie Melba.

Mac had seen her in concert once, just after Phryne had left for England, when Dame Melba had come to Melbourne during her seemingly endless ‘farewell’ tour. The recording, which was made at another ‘farewell’ concert in Covent Garden, two years prior to the Melbourne concert, didn’t really do her voice justice.

Mac pulled another record from the shelf. One she used to listen to frequently, but had been gathering dust for quite some time now. She wondered why she still avoided it. Hadn’t recent events proved she’d healed?

She snatched the needle up from the Melba recording with a resounding scratch and plucked the record from the turntable, replacing it with the one from the shelf. The new sound poured out, intense and beautiful. Horns, piano and rhythmic guitar accompanying dark, rich vocals.

Mac smiled at a memory.

Daisy had never heard Jazz before. Not until Mac had played this recording for her. She’d loved it. Just as she’d loved anything new. She’d been so bright. So curious and eager to learn. Always looking for a new adventure. Perhaps that memory was what had caused Mac to drag the dress from under the bed that night.

Mac had been inclined to turn down the request to go undercover. She could tell Jack wanted her to refuse, and she had doubted her ability to successfully portray a woman like Moll Brand. She also hadn’t thought she had anything remotely suitable to wear until a voice in the back of her mind had said— _but you do, and you can, and you’ll be amazing._

It was Daisy’s voice. Daisy, who would have thought the whole idea very exciting, and highly romantic and would’ve wished for all the world that she’d been asked to portray a notorious female gangster for a night.

In a way, wearing the dress she’d had made for Daisy, but hadn’t had the opportunity to give her, had been like inviting her friend along that night. Wearing it had made her more confident and the night had been amazing. And now she thought she heard the voice once more. It said: _You’ve been quiet long enough, my love. Time to be brave again._

She thought of Claire, whom she’d met twice for drinks now, but was holding at arm’s length because she wasn’t sure. Wasn’t sure it would amount to anything. Wasn’t sure it would last. Wasn’t sure it was worth it.

Claire would be at the club tonight. She’d told Mac as much and it had very clearly been an invitation.

Mac went to her room and brought the green silk gown out from her wardrobe, laying it carefully on her bed. She retrieved the dress box from underneath, then carefully folded the gown, wrapping it in tissue paper and placing it reverently in the box. She tied a string around to secure the top and tucked the whole thing into the back of her wardrobe.

She took up the suit coat she’d removed and hung on a chair when she’d arrive home and put it back on. She settled a hat over her flaming red locks, checked her reflection in the mirror by the door, and bravely went out into the night.

 

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I learned that Collins is the name of a bookseller in Australia, so I looked up other well known Australian booksellers for the other officer’s names at the start of this chapter. I was just wondering if anyone noticed that.
> 
> 2) Dame Nellie Melba is a famous operatic singer from Australia who apparently embarked on a very long farewell tour that reminded me of the ones some modern day artists have had. Wikipedia said this about her "seemingly endless" tour: "From this, she is remembered in the vernacular Australian expression _'more farewells than Dame Nellie Melba'_." Since Mac is having a farewell of her own, I thought Nellie's appearance fit.

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> The title of this story came from a post I saw about a tattoo on actor Nathan Page's bicep. It apparently reads "La Flamme Rouge" which is a cycling term for a red flag displayed with one kilometer remaining from the finish line of a race. 
> 
> In the post I saw it was said that in Nathan's case the tattoo might also be a nod to his spouse, which I thought was very sweet, so I appropriated the idea for my story.


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